Weiss Vignettes
by Yochan
Summary: Glimpses into the lives of two assassins. Warning: Yaoi, violence, sex. Aya/Yohji
1. Unspoken

Aya found him in the garage, playing with that fucking car, grease smeared across one cheek like a goddamned pinup poster.   
  
He took his mouth like he owned him, his thumb sliding through the grease, smearing it in a gritty swipe as he pressed the taller, thinner man against the side of the car.   
  
Yohji wanted it, had a tube of petroleum jelly right there in the toolbox, had his thighs open and his body bent right over the hood.  
  
Aya was sweaty, skin chilled when he bent over Yohji, shirtless, sinking into his body with a tight groan, his fingers covering the older man's mouth tightly when Yohji threatened to wake the others with his constant stream of broken, moaned pillow talk.   
  
Quieted then, they fucked, the car's frame groaning, leather shoes squeaking against the smooth concrete of the garage's floor, breath echoing between them, a tight, grunting give and take.   
  
Yohji bit Aya's fingers, and Aya held Yohji's hip too tight, and they fucked like animals against Yohji's car, until all at once neither one of them could stand anymore, and the two men collapsed together between the toolbox and the mini-fridge and the Seven's tire.   
  
Aya's hair still smelled like blood, and Yohji's hands were still bruised from the wire, and this still wasn't entirely enough, so they panted together, collapsed close tight for no more than support, just a way to keep from laying flat on the hard concrete. Dicks going soft, bodies sorer than before. But better than kata for hours or taking apart a car and putting it back together twice.   
  
Yohji offered him a cigarette, as always, meeting refusal, as always, and Aya made some remark about setting that mess of a car on fire if he wasn't careful, and like that, they dressed again, and nodded a strange, unspoken goodnight.

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	2. Misplaced

"Did you know," Yohji gasped, voice husky, soft, each word broken into stuttering syllables, "did you know I fucked around before this, before Weiss."  
  
"Shut up, Yohji."  
  
Aya fucked him harder, clenched his jaw, pounded the older man into to futon. The angle wasn't quite right to cover Yohji's mouth with his hand, so he glared at him, pretty eyes glittering with warning.  
  
But this wasn't a mission, and rules didn't apply, and Yohji's returned gaze took on a harder, daring edge.  
  
"I liked it face down," he continued, still gasping, chest working like he'd been running for an hour, "shoved down so I couldn't see."  
  
"I don't want to hear about this."  
  
Aya's voice held a strange calm, even as he took a particularly vicious thrust, his features tightening. He was close, very close. Damn that idiot for distracting him.  
  
The end was always the best part.  
  
And Yohji was fucking it up.  
  
"I liked—ah!—ahh…fuck…liked, liked to be pushed so hard I couldn't breathe."  
  
Aya's eyes closed tight, and he finished with a swordsman's precision, in, out, shut up Yohji, in, deeper, out, shut up, shut up.  
  
"I'd let an…anyone do it…anyone who wanted, and—"  
  
Crack.  
  
The slap was so hard that Yohji just choked, words cut off like Aya stole his voice. And then the room held a familiar sound, their harsh breathing, Aya still buried deep, breathing maybe a little harder than usual as he still took a few slow, wet strokes in and out of Yohji's twitching hole.  
  
"Is that what you wanted?" He growled softly.  
  
And when Yohji replied, he didn't look up, dark, soft curls still covering his face, fingers twisted tight in the sheets.  
  
"No."  
  
He sounded surprised.  
  
"Is that what you want from me?"  
  
"No," and maybe just a little, he sounded relieved.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Why did you do that?"  
  
Even in the quiet, dark, sterile hallway, it was obvious what Aya was bringing up out of nowhere.  
  
"Fuck, Aya. Not on a mission."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
Yohji glanced aside at him, daring to look away from the door to the boardroom.  
  
"Keep your eyes on the target," Aya murmured smoothly, not needing to look away from his own target to know Yohji's eyes were on him.  
  
They stood nearly back-to-back.  
  
Yohji scowled and looked back to the broad double doors. "It's not appropriate." His voice held the barest mocking tone as he mimicked Aya's vocabulary.  
  
"It didn't seem appropriate at the time either. Why did you bait me?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
The hall was quiet again, and after a full minute, Yohji inched his body back until they were touching.  
  
"Why do you fuck me?"  
  
Aya didn't answer.  
  
The doors opened, then, with a burst of deep, casual laughter, light spilling from the meeting room into the black hallway. A questioning stir, was the power out? Then gargled screams, overweight businessmen tripping over one another, trying to grasp their way back into the light, to the perceived safety of the brightly-lit room with it's silver decanters and black leather chairs.  
  
"The targets are dead." Aya broke the resulting silence in that eerily calm voice, tinny in Yohji's headset, but thick and rich in the quiet hallway.  
  
"Yeah, all fucking fourteen of them," Yohji muttered, without switching his tiny microphone on. He stood straddling the shoulders of the last man to fall, and he watched the blood start to thicken in a pool behind the man's head. Black like pudding.  
  
His gaze dulled a little, and he lost track of time until Aya's hand clapped onto his shoulder, polished leather slapping softly against the suppler, worn leather of his coat.  
  
Yohji jumped a little, surprised to feel Aya's breath against the shell of his ear.  
  
The hallway smelled like warm blood.  
  
"I don't do it for you," Aya said simply, softly, before he released Yohji's shoulder, and walked briskly toward the stairwell, away from the pile of dead men and one speechless assassin.

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reviews and criticism welcome

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	3. Asymmetric

The scent of vanilla caught him first, artificially sweet over the scent of the gaudy floral arrangement in his fingers. Vanilla and Aya?  
  
What the fuck.  
  
Suspicious green eyes followed Aya's stalking path through the closed shop. Followed the vague sway of Ran's slender hips as he walked away, toward the back, away. Away from the table where Yohji was surrounded by overly-fragrant clippings.  
  
"Where were you?" Yohji's voice carried quietly, low.  
  
Aya's steps paused, and he turned around slowly, eyes narrowed.  
  
Yohji nearly flinched under his gaze. What the fuck was Aya so pissed about.  
  
"That's none of your concern, Yohji." Dark. Aya's voice didn't always fit the daylight.  
  
And Yohji smiled a feral smile then, turning to face him boldly, stretching his body slowly, easing out the strain of bending over the damn table all afternoon. Instead of replying, he abruptly crossed the space between them, his hand reaching out to catch the handle of the bathroom door.  
  
Aya caught the flash in his eyes, the challenge of it, and found himself following Yohji into the small bathroom, a growl in his throat.  
  
"You smell like ice cream." Yohji's voice came from somewhere near his collarbone, as the taller man bent to undress him, broad hands rough, fingernails raking along his stomach before he lifted his shirt away, and dropped it to the tiled floor.  
  
Aya growled once more, but allowed the other man's hands to mold up his chest. He avoided Yohji's gaze now, his eyes turned to the low toilet, the tiny patch of mildew on the tile where the pipe behind it leaked.  
  
Yohji turned Aya's body abruptly, pushed his stomach over the cold, thick porcelain edge of the sink. As the wall gave a faint creak, Aya wondered how much weight it would take to break the whole thing off.  
  
But then Yohji's strong hand was around his cock, long, slender fingers working at the soft, spongy heat of his penis, coaxing the blood to rise in him. His other hand ran up and down Aya's bare back, kneading pale flesh, drawing blood there too, pretty pink blossoms below his skin.  
  
Aya bowed his head, and bucked his hips back, meeting a sudden thrust of Yohji's hips, the impact hard enough to cause them both to grunt. Through two layers of clothes, he could feel the rigid flesh of Yohji's erection grinding at his ass.  
  
Yohji dry-fucked him hard, his groin rubbing a tense, hot friction against Aya's ass, jeans sliding against pretty slacks, until it felt like a fire might rise between them. They gasped a discordant sound that echoed faintly in the small room.  
  
Yohji pumped at Aya's cock mercilessly, silky, thin foreskin sliding hot over Aya's sensitive cockhead, distracting him from ice cream and her eyes.  
  
"I want to fuck you so bad," Yohji's voice was hoarse, a wet sound broken by tense, biting kisses across Aya's shoulder. His breath stirred the short, fine hairs at the back of Aya's neck. "I want to fuck you. Fuck you, Aya."   
  
Aya glared down the drain in the sink.  
  
"Yohji." He growled the man's name like a warning, dragging the word out.  
  
Mine, said Yohji's hands, as he came in his jeans, hips bucking a broken, wild rhythm at the man bent over the cold sink.

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comments and criticism welcome

www.bishounenbondage.com


	4. Sleepwalking

Yohji woke up with something like damp, warm velvet running along his cheek from the corner of his eye toward his lips.

He mumbled in protest. Not awake. Go away. Fuck off, Aya.

"Just open your mouth," came the quiet reply, the order, as the warm thing touched more insistently, pressed closer to his lips. Hard.

Yohji's eyes opened then. He opened his mouth with a quiet obedience that had nothing to do with the haze of sleep. And Aya smiled with immense satisfaction as he shifted to straddle the man, his cock entering Yohji's mouth as easily as entering the hot, wet channel of a woman. 

Or so Aya imagined, in the dark with his eyes closed, and Yohji sucking softly.

He fucked Yohji's mouth very slowly, his knuckles white on the low headboard. 

Aya had no shirt on, and all Yohji could see was pale skin that looked gray in the dark room. The skin looked a little shiny, too, the way Aya's skin always did after a nightmare. 

And that must have fucking been it, why he was here.

Yohji gripped Aya's thighs through his pajama bottoms, and forced his mouth to work harder. Fuck you, Aya. And your nightmares. And fuck me for letting you get this close.

This close without waking him up.

What was he doing?

Aya growled and started to thrust a little harder, the thick head of his cock jarring against the back of Yohji's throat, cutting off his train off thought with the pounding of his heart. And he worked his tongue, and his lips, and he sucked, and he squeezed Aya's thighs, and he rocked his stiff erection against nothing at all.

And Aya came down his throat, and didn't stop pushing until Yohji wrestled him away, choking down thick, sticky liquid. 

They glared in the dark, wild eyes glinting in the thick heat of the room. The window was open, summer darkness stifling. The battlefield of a bed wasn't wide enough, and Yohji's nude, long limbs brushed up against Aya as he broke the hot silence.

"You can't." He exhaled sharply, and started fumbling around in the dark for his cigarettes on the nightstand. "You can't keep doing this."

"Yes I can," Aya dared quietly, gripping the sheets, vaguely resembling a child afraid to step onto the floor. Afraid to leave the bed. 

Stubborn. 

Aya caught the moist, used flush to Yohji's lips as the other man lit his cigarette with trembling fingers, his features momentarily bathed in the artificially healthy glow of the tiny flame.

Yohji exhaled the first stream of smoke like a sigh, away from Aya, and continued more softly, with a little nod toward the pack on the nightstand.

"Want one?" 

comments and criticism welcome 

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